


can't hold you back

by latenightiridescence



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25167727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightiridescence/pseuds/latenightiridescence
Summary: Komatsu breaks his arm, and the Kings are there to help him heal.
Relationships: Coco/Komatsu/Sunny, Toriko/Zebra/Komatsu
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	1. Coco and Sunny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Semianonymity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semianonymity/gifts).



> Written literal years ago as a prompt for Semianonymity. Enjoy!

Komatsu stared out the window, distracting himself from the dull pain in his arm with the view of the city stretching out for miles on end, his restaurant towering above the surrounding shops like the perfect centerpiece. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, because the sight filled Komatsu with a fierce longing; he should be there, right now, sharing the kitchen with talented chefs to make delicious meals.

Instead, he was stuck in this hospital with a broken arm, his dominant right, while both his restaurant and his partner carried on without him. This was one of the most frustrating injuries a chef could have, especially for Komatsu, who had so many people to cook for, and it wasn’t even from a trip with Toriko, which would be understandable and therefore slightly more tolerable.

No, he’d fallen down the stairs in a fit of clumsiness the likes of which he hadn’t experienced since he was a child. Now he couldn’t cook (at his best, at least, never mind what the doctor said) for a good three weeks.

He was bored, too, with nothing to watch on TV – nothing but cooking shows and ingredient auctions and interviews with bishokuya to remind him exactly what he was missing out on. They hadn’t allowed Komatsu his knife, either, which he could marvel at for hours, run his thumb over the etching of Melk’s name and soak up the memories. All there was were newspapers and magazines and old cookbooks that could only offer so much comfort.

Worst of all, he was alone. Two days, and he hadn’t heard from Toriko beyond his first call, or seen any of the other Kings. He didn’t even have a roommate.

It surprised him a little, how restless he was. After traveling with the Kings for so long, it was what Komatsu was used to; he’d happily adapted to their dangerous way of life with a lot less hesitation than was probably healthy, looking back, and never regretted it. When he wasn’t cooking at Hotel Gourmet, he was out with Toriko and Coco or Sunny or Zebra, having adventures, learning his way around new ingredients.

He was safe in this hospital, with nothing trying to eat him, and he would give almost anything not to be.

Komatsu winced. It was a good thing he was getting out tomorrow, since he’d forgotten how to be bored gracefully. Honestly, he’d been spoiled, if chasing bloodthirsty beasts was a better alternative, nearly the only one he could think of, to just sitting around and convalescing.

In the end, he was saved from becoming an uncharacteristically bad patient and sneaking down to the hospital kitchen by the timely arrival of Sunny and Coco, both bearing gifts, but, more importantly, supplying Komatsu with the company he needed to keep from losing his mind.

His eyes were closed when they came in, trying to convince himself to nap instead of being sorely tempted to see how long it would take for someone to notice he was missing from his room. Distracted from the sound of the door opening by his own thoughts, repeating recipes over and over again in an attempt to keep himself in bed, he first became aware of their presence by the sound of Sunny attempting to whisper, voice just a little too loud, carrying.

“You promised ‘Matsu wouldn’t be sleeping!”

“I don’t believe he is,” Coco said, smiling at Komatsu, whose eyes were open now. “Ne, Komatsu-kun?”

“Coco-san! Sunny-san!” Komatsu beamed, struggling to push himself up with only one arm. “I’m so glad you’re here. Please, come in!”

Sunny swept into the room, noble as ever, arms and hair full of flowers. He huffed at Komatsu’s efforts - pressed him down to the bed, gently, with his feelers - even as he scattered the bright, fragrant blossoms across everything, muttering under his breath how bland hospitals were, scowling when Komatsu giggled behind his hand as Coco rolled his eyes. Eventually, Sunny settled a huge vase of blooms, hundreds of small rainbow starbursts, on the table next to his bed. Their scent reminded Komatsu of wild places, and he relaxed into his pillows, sighing happily when Sunny tucked a flower behind his ear.

Hands full, Coco pushed a chair closer to Komatsu, balancing one thermos in the crook of his arm before twisting the lid off the second, pouring a cap-full of steaming liquid into it, offering it to Komatsu. The soup warmed his hands, and Komatsu savored it in slow sips, cherishing the warmth of Coco’s homemade cooking. It was butter and savory and balanced perfectly by the tea in the in the other thermos. The last of his restlessness melted away.

“We thought you might be tired of hospital food,” Coco said, a joke, because this particular hospital was well known for its collection of high quality ingredients. It was part of the reason Komatsu so wanted a chance to see the kitchen for himself. They called to him, a tug in the deeper parts of his consciousness, a familiar siren’s call that Komatsu was learning to ignore when necessary (though normally he wouldn’t have to, and it still bothered him he needed to now). But with his friends here, it was easier. And it was for the best they’d come together, because Sunny he may very well have been able to convince, with the promise of food. Coco would allow no such thing.

“Thank you for the meal, Coco-san,” Komatsu said, because this place may have been driving him crazy, but he still had manners. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Coco smiled at him, hesitated only briefly before reaching out to take his hand, squeezing softly. “It’s no trouble, Komatsu-kun. I wanted to cook for you.”

Komatsu held on, happy, until Sunny perched on the side of his bed, leaning into Komatsu’s space. His tiny pout told Komatsu he was feeling neglected, so he turned to the other King immediately, wishing he could offer his other hand suddenly feeling, more than ever, the temporary loss. Instead, he rested his forehead against Sunny’s shoulder, nuzzling, and sighed happily when Sunny relaxed against him.

Coco watched them enjoy each other, expression unusually unguarded. They sat together in companionable silence for several minutes, before Coco finally spoke up. “You’re being released tomorrow, yes?” Komatsu nodded. “Toriko and Zebra will meet you at your apartment in a day or so. I believe you might appreciate the warning?”

And he did, absolutely, because Coco understood that even in his hindered state, Komatsu wanted to cook for them. He was always up for a challenge, and one-handed cooking could be fun, if frustrating.

“I’ll be happy to see them, but may I ask what they’re doing now?

One corner of his mouth curled up, and Coco brought a finger to his lips, eyes shining. “It’s a secret.”

Komatsu blinked, startled, then laughed until his bones started to ache. He loved Coco like this, loved that his Kings were freely sharing things between themselves. They were closer now, so much closer, and if there was a single thing Komatsu would choose to be proud of, it was the mending relationship of those most precious to him.

“You really didn’t need to concern yourself with coming here, though! You’ll probably get bored, and I would have been okay for one more day.”

“We just wante’ to make sure you weren’ suffering unnecessarily, ‘Matsu. Can’t be easy, stuck in this hideous place without bein’ able to cook.”

Shivering, squeezing his eyes shut against joyful tears that stung pleasantly, Komatsu pressed his face against Sunny’s neck and just let himself drink them in. He didn’t have the words to express how much it meant to him, them coming here to comfort him.

“Are you alright, Komatsu-kun?”

“I’m fine,” he said, and meant it; Coco leaned in close, his breath tousling the hair at the back of Komatsu’s neck. “I’m just fine.”


	2. Toriko and Zebra

Komatsu sighed quietly, letting the frustration - only tightening his muscles and pulsing a dull ache through his broken arm - slowly ease away. The pile of chopped carrots was messy and uneven, like he hadn’t seen since the very first time he held a knife all those years ago. It certainly wasn’t his knife’s fault, because the handle Melk had so carefully crafted for him fit just as snugly in his left hand as it did in his right.

No, the most difficult part of preparing food with only one functional arm was how long it had been since he’d practiced with his left hand. He could do this, absolutely, but he understood at least another day of practice would be necessary for him to even being to close the gap in skill between his right and left.

Under different circumstances, this would have posed no problem, because Komatsu was perfectly content to stay right here and practice as much as he could before the lingering pain in his broken bones insisted he take a break. But Toriko and Zebra were due to arrive any time, and so he swept the carrots into a container - to use later, for his own food, because they were still perfectly edible - and set about trying again, more slowly this time.

Bracing the ingredients with the fingers of his right hand, free from the cast and sling but limited in their movement, hadn’t been the best idea. His fingers were littered with small cuts, not bleeding heavily at all but still stinging, and still getting blood on his usually immaculate kitchen surfaces. And every time he had to take a break, struggle with opening a band aid and getting it in place one-handed, he was eating into time he could be perfecting his left-handed technique.

So he tried again, hand shaking from unaccustomed, controlled effort. Maybe he should have used a different knife, one without the ability to chop straight through fingers and cutting board both, but being able to keep the strength of his Melk knife in check with either hand was an important skill to learn, and he never was one to just give up. He’d never have gotten where he was today otherwise.

Komatsu just finished slicing up his new carrot, almost as close to his usual results that he felt the first stirrings of satisfaction despite the severe decrease in speed - hopefully there wouldn’t be a worldwide crisis that required speedy preparation for a least a week - when the sound of Zebra’s voice next to his ear nearly made him drop his knife.

“Kid, ya have the ingredients ya need to make stew?”

Komatsu blinked, heart still beating a little too hard in surprise. “What kind of stew, Zebra-san?”

“How the fuck should I know? Stew with a lot a meat in it.”

The chef was already pulling out his biggest pots, the kind he kept specifically for a King sized appetite, staggering under the weight with nothing else to brace them with. “Is there any particular reason you want stew?” Komatsu wheezed.

“…Because we have milk.”

That…was a pretty odd reason, and Komatsu had no idea why milk was so important, but he quickly ran through his mental list of the ingredients he had and decided he didn’t have nearly enough meat for Toriko and Zebra both.

“If you could bring some chuck-eye and rump roast, I’d be grateful. Red-skinned potatoes, too.”

“Fine. We’ll be there soon.”

Komatsu pulled the emergency batch of Century Soup he always kept on hand for situations just like this one from the fridge, pouring it into a large pot and setting the stove to a low temperature. Perhaps because of the icy environment it originated from, the soup was best heated slowly, but it would still be ready long before the stew Zebra requested.

Without half of the ingredients ready, the stew could take as many as three hours, especially with how slowly he was chopping the vegetables and, once they arrived, the potatoes as well. He didn’t think Toriko or Zebra would particularly mind, per say, as long as they had something to eat while they waited. The Century Soup and a few other appetizers might be enough to distract them awhile.

Komatsu was uncertain why they would choose something like stew and not request it beforehand, considering how long it had to simmer to draw out maximum flavor and the incredible smell he would always associate with this particular dish, simple as it was.

He was laying out spices and collecting the things he need to make an excellent stock when the sound of his front door opening announced the arrival of his dinner guests. He’d given a key to Toriko - and one day hoped to offer the same to the other Kings, whom he trusted absolutely - so he could let himself in whenever he liked. Komatsu had long since abandoned any sense of personal privacy; they spent so much time together out on hunts it hardly seemed to matter anymore.

“Toriko-san, Zebra-san! I’m in the kitchen!” he called out, listening to the rustling of bags as they trudged down the front hallway and into his kitchen, the largest area in the apartment by far. It meant a tighter squeeze in the living room, especially when he had more than a single King in his place at once, but none of them minded the close quarters, and he’d probably end up half sitting on one of them by the end of the evening anyway.

“Yo, Komatsu!” Toriko said by way of greeting, sticking his nose in the air and inhaling deeply to revel in the permanent, delicious scents that saturated Komatsu’s kitchen. Zebra was silent, but he when he peered over Toriko’s shoulder, his face was free of aggravation. His eyes slid closed as he took in the smells and sounds of Komatsu cooking, the sizzling and bubbling and steady, slow rhythm of Komatsu’s chopping.

Komatsu abandoned his preparations long enough to rush over to his partner for a hug, having missed them both. Toriko’s arms enfolded him, gently, mindful of his injury, and a large, scarred hand descended on his head and ruffled carefully through his hair. The chef stood there for a moment, soaking in their affection, and then disentangled himself to return to his cooking.

“Why don’t you two go make yourselves comfortable? I’ll bring out some wine and Century Soup right away,” Komatsu said, surprised when both men shook their heads and ushered the chef back into the kitchen instead, depositing their groceries on an uncluttered counter.

“Not tonight, kid.” Zebra gestured to the even but excruciatingly chopped vegetables. “I could hear ya struggling clear across the city.”

Toriko nodded, glancing at Komatsu for permission before picking up one of his knifes - not the Melk knife, which wouldn’t respond near as well to someone beside the chef it was made for - and heading for the chopping board. “We’re going to help you cook, if that’s cool with you.”

Komatsu stood frozen for a moment, overwhelmed by the offer and reminded, vividly, of that moment in the Gourmet Pyramid when these same two men had become something like his precious tools, extensions of himself that had felt so perfect in his mind. Did they really mean to…?

“Tell us what to do, kid. But don’t get cocky about it!”

The bishokuya looked down at him, expressions bright with something that looked like excitement, and Komatsu realized they were also recalling their teamwork against the sphinx and eager to repeat the experience. Had it been as amazing a feeling for them as well?

Komatsu took a deep breath, relaxed and let his mind slip into the concentration that always took him while cooking. With a gesture, he motioned the Kings forward, and began to cook.

-

Looking back on it later, the entire process of preparing the stew was a little hazy, needle sharp as his focus had been. Komatsu remembered Zebra using his voice cutter on the chunks of meat and not even flinching, remembered Toriko eventually discarding the knife he’d taken up to use his hands instead. Komatsu had taken it all in stride, continuing to issue orders and watching closely to ensure everything went well. His partners had followed everything he said to the letter, flowing around the kitchen as if they’d done this a thousand times before.

The only time Komatsu had ever really been surprised by anything they did was when Toriko had pulled out the pre-programmed gourmet case full of milk. He could tell by looking at it that this particular milk was nothing like what he’d used before, and Toriko had explained it was the ingredient they’d gone hunting for while he was hospitalized; a special type of milk that was best known for its ability to supplement the calcium in bones at a ridiculously high level, quickening the healing of breaks.

Tearing up, Komatsu pressed his face against their stomachs and just held on for as long as he could before they broke apart to continue cooking. The warmth of their hands on his back, on the nape of his neck, lingered.

Eventually they’d finished, migrating to the living room to sit around the low table and enjoy the meal they’d worked hard on together.

It was the best stew Komatsu ever tasted and would likely ever taste again.

The constant, low-level ache in his broken arm subsided completely for the first time, and Komatsu imagined he could actually feel the milk knitting his bones back together. For the first time since his accident, Komatsu felt peaceful, knew he’d sleep well that night. Definitely would, if Toriko and Zebra would stay with him.

As it was, he was sprawled across both their laps, his back pressed to Toriko’s chest and his feet propped on Zebra’s thighs, his hands curled around Komatsu’s ankles as if to keep him there. Like he would rather be anywhere else.

Earlier, the bishokuya had been covered in bruises and shallow cuts. The wounds had long healed with such an excellent meal, but it was only now Komatsu thought to ask about them.

“Were you hurt getting the milk?” he asked, brushing a thumb across Toriko’s cheek, where a faint bruise had been when they’d first arrived. Now there was nothing but the familiar set of scars.

“Nah.” Toriko waved away his concern. “Zebra and I didn’t agree on which potatoes were best.”

Zebra growled low in his throat, ready to fight again if Toriko pushed him but reluctant to let go of Komatsu’s legs. The chef just laughed, burying his face into the crook of Toriko’s shoulder. When he flexed his toes against Zebra’s palm, the King fell silent.

Komatsu would just stay here for a while, and hope they could do this again soon.


End file.
